Reasons Why
by didi kat
Summary: My response to all the angst fics where Hawke dumps Anders for blowing up the chantry. rated T just to be safe
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Dragons Age and all associated properties are not mine, and I'm not making any money from this._

_Author's Note: I've been reading a lot of Hawke/Anders fics lately, and one theme that most of them seem to have is that the destruction of the chantry causes a major rift between them. I don't think it would because quite frankly I don't think Anders was wrong in what he did. So this fic details the final days of the Kirkwall Chantry as seen by Tyla Hawke: Apostate Mage and Erstwhile Champion of Kirkwall_

Chapter 1: The Philosophy of Maybe

" I do not deal in maybes. I deal in cold, hard facts as should you!" I could not believe she just said that. It took every ounce of control I had to stop myself from blasting Meredith with strongest spells I had. Only the knowledge that I was a lone apostate in keep full of templars kept me from it. Didn't deal in maybes? The entire templar order was _**built **_on maybes.

Maybe they would turn to blood magic.  
>Maybe they would give in to temptation and be possessed by a demon.<br>Maybe they would get angry and lash out with magic.

The only "cold, hard facts" were that the mages of Thedas had been systematically subjugated and abused by the chantry and the templars for centuries, and we were getting very, _**very**_ tired of it.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: To my anonymous reviewer; Two things: First, this fic is not about the reasons why Anders blew up the chantry. It's about why Hawake didn't leave him for doing it. Second: If you were in Anders position, what would you have done? If your every attempt at a peaceful resolution was rejected and rebuffed, what would you do?_

Chapter 2 Apathy

I loved shape-shifting magic. To be able to cast off my human form and fly as an actual hawk, to lose myself in the ebb and flow of the air currants above Kirkwall, was the best stress relief I knew of. I kept trying to talk Anders into learning it, but between his work at the clinic and his work with the mage's underground he never had the time.

I had been out flying for several hours, and I was now debating with myself whether I should take a spin past the Gallows to try and spy on the Knight-Commander and her men or just go home. In the end, the siren's call of sedition was to great to resist, and I headed for the Gallows.

As I circled lower over the Gallows, I saw two templars herding a young mage girl toward a rather secluded nook in the courtyard. This wasn't good. They started pulling at her robes, and she began to cry soft, despairing sobs that said far more eloquently than words that she knew no help was coming. I was bracing myself to attack, when who should I see approaching but my dear brother Carver. He glanced toward the other templars, and he kept on walking.

I couldn't believe it. I absolutely could not believe it. I flew at the two would-be rapists and managed to completely blind one and severely disfigure the other. The girl ran back to the dubious safety of the other mages, and I flew away as fast as my wings could take me. All the way home, my mind reeled with the image of Carver seeing someone being raped and doing nothing. It was no secret that my brother and I didn't think much of each other, but I _**never**_ believed he was capable of that. He was always so passionate about doing the right thing, or what he thought was the right thing anyway. In that moment, I hated the templars more than ever for turning my firebrand of a brother into an apathetic puppet.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: To anonymous, there are some rather large holes in your argument, but since this is the fiction archive I'm not going to go into it here. If you would like to hear my counter argument, then send me a PM and we can start a thread in the forums. I do enjoy a good debate. _; ) _If not, then let's just agree to disagree on the subject of blowing up the chantry. On the subject of Carver, you're right he was raised better than that. That was the point. Six years of indoctrination and lyrium addiction had twisted him so far from who he was that it took the prospect of killing his own sibling to snap him out of it._

Chapter 3 A Wasted Chance

I watched the templars lead Alain away. We had won the fight, but I felt defeated. Ser Thrask was dead. And once Meredith got done 'questioning' Alain, the templars who sided with him would either be executed or turned out of the order if they didn't recant their position. I didn't even want to think about what would happen to the mages that were involved.

Cullen had said that he would ask Meredith to be merciful, but I didn't hold much hope of that happening. Mercy didn't generally fit into the dear Knight-Commander's world view. I felt a surge of hopeless, helpless anger as I looked down at Ser Thrask's body, along with an irrational desire to re-animate Grace's body so I could kill her again. He had made so much progress in improving mage/templar relations and laid the foundation for making the Circle a sanctuary for mages; not a prison.

**Ser** Thrask; odd, even in my mind, I always added the honorific. With most templars, I was outwardly respectful while I mentally inserted some more appropriate adjectives to their titles, but it was different with Ser Thrask. He was one of the very few templars that I actually respected, and he was the _**only**_ templar that I could truthfully say that I liked. And now, he was dead, and we were left with our insane Knight-Commander and Ser 'Mages-Cannot-Be-Our-Friends' Cullen. The situation in Kirkwall was going to deteriorate even faster now. I was sure of it. I looked at the carnage around me one last time. It was such a waste. It was all such a Maker-be-damned waste.


End file.
